


three knocks on the door (no answer)

by pumpkinpickles



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:05:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5376257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinpickles/pseuds/pumpkinpickles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>leaning against a wall, a single duvet curled over both parties, another haphazardly strewn across legs, Kuroo whispers, “anyone home?” </p><p>Kenma replies, “no,” softly, so softly it feels like a distant star out of reach.</p><p>--</p><p>in which there's no one home here in kozume kenma, what are you expecting, an answer? make one up yourself, kuroo tetsurou.</p>
            </blockquote>





	three knocks on the door (no answer)

there were periods of time when Kenma wouldn’t be home in his own body.

the first time it happened, Kuroo didn’t think much of it. at least Kenma was going to school, studying, and still hitting tosses, right?

_wrong._

the apathy, _oh_ the absolute apathy Kenma would regard life and all things around him during these moods was downright terrifying. nothing anyone did or said could get a rise or a reaction out of Kenma. if they were lucky, Kenma’d offer them a slow blink or a disinterested shrug.

nothing more than a low sigh at a missed toss, a dead stare at a failed mark, a deadpan look at a “GAME OVER” flashing on the screen.   

he wouldn’t put in any more effort than necessary for anything either, not even for volleyball or gaming. sure, he’d still perform, but a performance so lackluster Nekoma would rather hurry Kenma home, shooting worried glances as he trudges out the gym, pushing Kuroo to follow.

ironically enough, it was those times that Kenma got an intense focus for anything he did, from listening in class to gaming. whether or not anything registered to him was a whole other story. he could take notes, do practice questions, yet the moment the bell rung to announce the end of class, kenma wouldn’t, for the life of him, be able to name a single thing he’d learnt that period.

concentrating? sure he was.

trying to concentrate on anything other than _living_ , that is.

it always scared Kuroo, that perhaps one day Kuroo would pick Kenma up for school and find out that Kenma had died on the inside overnight, his outside barely catching up, eyes distant, glossy.

that maybe, one day, he’d have to watch Kenma crumble to nothing inside out, unable to help, unable to even reach him even with words and thoughts. that he’d never be able to catch sight of a rare shy smile on camera again, that late night conversations would cease and even Kenma’s voice would fade from mind.

the worst thing was that no one could get Kenma out of this slump but himself. sometimes it lasted for days, sometimes months.

these moods came and went like summer rain, as and when they pleased.

Kenma didn’t seem to mind either, constantly allowing himself to be dragged down by these moods. a lot easier than struggling against it, he would monotonously murmur, if asked, why, _why, **why?**_

but Kuroo sure as hell did mind.

because to Kuroo, these moods were akin to drowning.

each breath painful, a burden, each exhale meaningless bubbles.

sinking, pulled down by regrets chained to ankles like a steel ball and a heavy heart, the surface getting further and further, cloudy and unclear as eyes glass over, droop; is the surface really there, or has it evolved into an endless abyss, already?

voices of concern and shout of help nothing but buzz in one’s ears. irritating, irritating buzz. _“won’t they shut up already,” “please don’t stop calling,”_ conflicting thoughts that run through the mind like the tears that run down cheeks, unending.

stay like this, like any manner, and one gets used to it, treats it as a norm.

this was not a norm Kuroo wanted Kenma to have.

he wanted eager eyed, fidgety Kenma as he walked out a game store with his newest game; he wanted calculating and decisive Kenma found on court; he wanted soft smiles and golden eyes Kenma who kissed the corners of his lips and breathed his name like a prayer.

he wanted Kenma, not the shell of who he was.

_“selfish, selfish, selfish”_ , echoes in Kuroo’s head, as he never, ever stops bringing Kenma back to painful reality he wants nothing more but to recoil and hide from.

_“i know.”_

* * *

 

****  
  


leaning against a wall, a single duvet curled over both parties, another haphazardly strewn across legs, Kuroo whispers, “anyone home?”

Kenma replies, “no,” softly, so softly it feels like a distant star out of reach.

“can i still leave a voicemail?” Kuroo half-jokes, curls his hand over Kenma’s, whose grip is slack, cold.

Kenma sighs, and Kuroo takes it as a “yes”, will not imagine it as anything else.

“this’ll pass, too. take a rest for as long as you need, a little breather. i’ll be waiting, for you to come home, always.” Kuroo presses a kiss on the crown of Kenma’s head, sucks in a shuddering breath, and feels his voice crack on the next line.

“please, just come back, even if you don’t want to.”

Kuroo shuts his eyes, buries his face in Kenma’s hair, feels his eyes burn behind his eyelids, tears slipping, slipping, slipping.

“please.”

Kenma gives another sigh, and there’s the slightest of a difference. it’s less airy, more grieved. he leans into Kuroo, intertwines their fingers, squeezes.

Kenma sighs again, breathes, in and out, watery and broken.

“i will.

 **  
** i will.”

**Author's Note:**

> 4am vent fic, yes i know my choices in life are incredible. ill likely lengthen/edit this when im more awake.
> 
> actually this is largely unfinished(probably) and im blaming sleep deprivation for posting such an unfine fic rn


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